


Through the haze

by Mony (Mony_Writes)



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Gen, Modern AU, Race kinda just goes through it tbh, also snyders in this and he is a very bad guy, brief description of blood and violence, mentions of verbal and physical abuse, nothing graphic but its there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:00:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26176852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mony_Writes/pseuds/Mony
Summary: Race has a nack for getting himself into trouble. Today, maybe more then most days.----exploring a new trope (for me, it's otherwise pretty common in the fandom). Please read the tags and proceed with caution!
Relationships: Racetrack Higgins & Jack Kelly
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Through the haze

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk/prompt me over on my Tumblr @wide-eyed--wonderer !! And, as always comments/feedback are welcomed and appreciated!!

If you asked Race what he was good at, he’d tell you getting into trouble.

(If you asked his closest friends ~~brothers~~ , they’d say math or dance or making them laugh)

So today, Race would say he was just doing what he was good at. Even if he didn’t mean to. 

And he really didn’t mean to. 

Math, numbers, that came easy to Race. History, on the other hand, Race thought might actually learn more if he watched paint dry. 

He just didn’t get it. He couldn’t remember dates to save his life. 

And in this case, that might be literal. Considering he was currently sitting with his foster father and his history teacher, at a meeting discussing Race’s below average results in history. 

(It wasn’t even that bad, I’m Race’s opinion. He was on a solid C+. He wasn’t failing. But when all his other grades were A’s or above, it was a cause for concern apparently).

“I just think,” his history teacher interrupted Race’s thoughts, “that if Race just applied himself a bit more to his history studies, his grades would improve.” She smiled as if that would do anything. 

“I can assure you,” Snyder responded, putting his hand firmly on Race’s shoulder (where he knew a bruise was from when he had shoved him into a cabinet a couple nights before, the asshole) 

(or maybe, he’d forgotten about it. He beat him often enough that he could have forgotten) 

“that Race will put more time into his history study. I will personally oversee it.”

Oh yeah, he was in some deep shit now. 

“Thank you Mr. Snyder.” She smiled at him before turning to Race, “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” 

Judging by the look on his foster father's face, Race was guessing that he wouldn’t be seeing her tomorrow. 

The car ride home was mostly silent, save for the radio and Snyder’s occasional whistling along. Race sat in the backseat, avoiding eye contact in the rearview mirror and going over breathing exercises that Jack had taught him. 

Race didn’t even try to escape to his bedroom when he got home. He went and sat straight on the couch, ready for the verbal abuse Snyder was about to throw his way. 

Instead, Snyder went into the kitchen, and before Race could react, he came back and smashed a glass over his head. 

Race kinda blacked out after that. 

He was awake, and aware to some extent, he knew that he was yelled at, and there was some hitting, but he couldn’t really think past the blood that was currently dripping down the front of his face. He knew that Snyder finished at some point and left Race on the couch, but he couldn’t tell you how long he was punished, or how long he continued to sit there until the, o _h sit I’m bleeding I need help_ , kicked in. 

And when it did, he got up from the couch, grabbed his backpack from where it was sitting, still packed from school near the front door, and bolted. 

He didn’t really know where he was going, and his mind was still kind of hazy, from a combination of adrenaline and dizziness from whatever the damage was to his forehead. but his feet led him to Jack’s house.

He didn’t even knock, he just grabbed the spare key from under the mat and walked in. He heard Jack call out, but he just collapsed on the couch and closed his eyes. It’d been a long day, surely five minutes of rest couldn't hurt.

“Race. Racer, Tony ANTONIO!” Jack’s increasingly loud voice forced Races eyes open to look at the older boy. 

“Jackie?” Race murmured. 

“Yeah, hey buddy.” Jack smiled, running his fingers through Race’s (blood clustered) hair. “I know you must be tired right now -”

“I ran all the way here” Race nodded, the action making him dizzy, and he closed his eyes for a second as the wave subsided, quickly opening them when he felt Jack’s hand tense and stop in his hair. 

If him keeping his eyes open meant Jack would keep running his hand through his hair, Race would keep his eyes open. 

“I can see that Race.” Jack smiled sadly, “But I need you to stay awake for me. I need to know what I’m dealing with here.”

“Snyder did it.” Race told Jack, preempting Jack’s next question. Plus he didn’t want Jack to think he was picking fights again. 

“Of course he did. The asshole.” Jack growled under his breath

“My fault.” Race admitted, the fog on his brain increasing the longer he kept his eyes open, “He had to come to school cause I’m failing history.”

“No. It’s not your fault Race.” Jack said forcefully, lowering himself and looking Race in the eye. His form was blurry to Race, but his eyes still managed to pierce his soul. Jack held his gaze, searching for something in Race’s eyes. Race couldn’t tell if he got the answer he wanted before Jack broke it and sighed, “You just sit still, why don’t I have a look at this, ok.” 

“Kay Jackie.” Race sighed, again leaning into his touch. Jack carefully looked around his head, frowning all the while, pulling slightly at the skin and inspecting the source (or maybe sources, Race wasn’t sure anymore) of blood flow. His hand continued to repetitively run through his hair, before coming to a sudden stop. 

“Shit is that glass Race.” 

“Mmm. He smashed a glass over my head.” Race moved his hand on top of Jack, who immediately understood what he wanted and resumed the stroking. 

“I think you need stitches,” Jack admitted. 

“Can you do it?” Race knew it was childish to ask, but he was comfortable and he didn't want to leave Jack, whose hand was currently the lifeline grounding him in reality. 

“I wish I could kid, but we need to go to the hospital.” 

“You’re coming too, Jackie?” Race pleaded.

“Well, you're not walking there. C’mon buddy. I promise. I’m going to make it all better.” Even though his haze, Race knew he wasn’t just talking about the cut on his forehead. 

“I trust you, Jackie.”


End file.
